The clerk stared from the detective to Esther, then to me. I saw hatred come in his eyes. He shrilled, “That’s not true about Esther, but this is the man. I’ll swear it’s the man.”
The detective grinned at me. “How about it, buddy? You the guy?”
“No,” I said.
“Well, now, ain’t that too bad? Must be a case of mistaken identity. Do you want to help the officers clear it up?”
“Of course.”
“Then we’ll go over to the hotel and look around.”
I said, “No, we won’t. We’ll talk things over right here, or else we’ll go and see the D.A.”
“Oh no, buddy. You’re going to the hotel.”
“What do you expect to find there?”
“Oh, we can sort of look around. We’d like to try the blade of your knife and see whether it fits into that little hole in the door.”
I shook my head. “If you’re going to try and pin anything on me, I’m going to see a lawyer.”
“Now listen, buddy, if you’re guilty, that’s all right. You just go ahead and sit tight. Don’t say anything and get a lawyer, but if you’re innocent and don’t want to have this thing pinned on you, you’d better help us clear it up.”
“I’m willing to help you clear it up, but I’m not going to be dragged around the streets.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Out to Ashbury’s house,” I said.
“Why?”
“I have some work to do out there. That’s where my clothes are.”
I saw a crafty look on the detective’s face. “That’s fine,” he said. “We’ll get a taxi and go out to Ashbury’s.”
“How about the car you came in?” I asked.
“Well,” he said, “that’ll be sort of crowded.”
He walked back to Esther Clarde and said, “All right, sister, you’re at the parting of the ways. Either identify this guy or get hooked as an accessory. Which do you want to do?”
“He isn’t the one.”
“We know he’s the man. You’re standing right at the fork of the road. Pick your bed, because you’re going to have to lie in it.”
Bertha Cool, who had walked toward the elevators and paused to listen in on the conversation, said, “Isn’t that intimidating a witness?”
The detective looked up at her, an angry flush coming to his face. “Move on,” he said. “This is police business.” He flipped back the lapel of his coat to show her his star.
Bertha Cool said, “Phooey. That piece of tin doesn’t mean a damn thing to me. If I understand what I’ve heard correctly, you’re telling this girl that if she commits perjury, nothing will happen to her, but that if she tells the truth, you’re going to hook her for being an accessory after the fact.”
“Go jump in the lake,” the detective said irritably.
“Find one big enough and I will,” Bertha cooed.
Esther Clarde remained quietly positive. “He isn’t the man.”
Markham, the night clerk, said, “You know he’s the man, Esther. What are you trying to do? Why should you protect him? What’s he to you?”
“A total stranger,” she said. “I never saw him before in my life, and neither did you.”
The detective who had charge of me said, “Bill, take them out to Ashbury’s place. We’ll go in a cab. I want to keep this girl and Lam apart, and you’d better keep her from talking to that night clerk.”
“Let her talk her head off,” the other detective said, “She’s just building up a case against herself.”
Esther said to the night clerk, “If you’d had a good look at him, Walter, you’d know he isn’t the same one. You didn’t see him as well as I did. You—”
“You heard what I said,” the detective remarked.
“Well, what the hell am I going to do? Am I—”
The detective who had me grabbed Markham by the arm. “You come along with us,” he said.
Markham came walking along, his pants flapping around his ankles where the cuffs had been rolled up.
We went in a taxi. The others followed in the police car, clearing the way for the cab with the siren. I never did know how Bertha got there, but she managed to keep right along with the procession. When we pulled up in front of Ashbury’s house and got out, the detective looked at her, and said, “You again. Where do you think you’re getting in on this party? Beat it.”
Bertha said, “It happens this young man is working for me, and I’ve telephoned a lawyer who’ll be here in about ten minutes. Mr. Ashbury wants to see me, and if you try to keep me out of this house, you’ll have a damage suit on your hands.”
“We don’t want any lawyers,” the detective said. “All we need is to get things straightened out. Lam can make a frank statement, and that’s all there’ll be to it.”
Bertha snorted.
The detectives held a whispered conference, then we all went in.
“Is Miss Ashbury at home?” one of the detectives asked the butler.
“Yes, sir.”
“Get hold of her. Get her here right away.”
“Yes, sir. Who shall I say is calling?”
The detective pulled back his coat. “The law,” he said. The butler took it on the double quick.
I heard Alta’s feet on the stairs — quick, light steps.
Alta paused on about the fourth step where she could see into the room. No one needed to blue-print the situation for her. She stood there staring with eyes that were a little wider and a little rounder than usual, then she came forward with her chin up. “Why, Donald, what is this?”
“A personally escorted tour,” I said.
The detectives who seemed to be in charge pushed forward and said, “You’re Alta Ashbury?”
“Yes.”
“You hired this man to get some letters for you, didn’t you?”
“I did nothing of the sort.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“Giving my father physical culture lessons.”
“Bunk.”
She drew herself up, and there was something about her that put the detectives on the defensive. “This is my father’s house,” she said. “I don’t think he’s invited you to call, and I’m certain I haven’t.”
Bill said, “How about taking his finger-prints, Sergeant?”
“Good idea.”
They grabbed my hands. I resisted as best I could, but they held my wrists and took finger-prints.
Bill said, “Come on, Lam. What’s the use of beating around the bush. Your finger-prints check with the ones we found there in the hotel.”
“Then someone planted them.”
“Yes, I know. You loaned someone your hands for the evening.”
I said, “Show me where they check.”
The detectives huddled together, began comparing my prints with some photographs they had. I heard the sound of heavy steps in the upper corridor, and Mrs. Ashbury and Bernard Carter came walking down the stairs. He was tenderly solicitous. She was prepared either to make a scene or put on an act, as the occasion might require.
There was something in the ponderous dignity of her appearance that impressed the officers more than Alta Ashbury’s clean-cut patrician manner. The officers became deferential.
“What’s going on here?” Mrs. Ashbury asked.
“We’ve caught the murderer,” one of the detectives said, and motioned toward me.
“Donald!” she exclaimed in surprise.
He nodded.
I heard quick, pounding steps, and Bob, running up from the billiard room, came to stand in the doorway.
Alta Ashbury moved over to my side and said, “Dad’s on his way out here.”